When Tears Are Not Enough
by Nestrik
Summary: She made her choice- now they will both have to live with it. When Elizabeth breaks down under the pressure of her father's silence and of her love's chosen life, she chooses to marry the Commodore. Will our Mr. Turner find another love? We can only hope.
1. Infidelity

* * * When Tears Are Not Enough * * *  
* * * By Nestrik * * *  
  
Chapter One  
Infidelity  
  
SHE LOVED HIM WITH ALL OF HER HEART. She really did. It was just that she could not spend the rest of her life with him and live comfortably. She was a governor's daughter. She was a Swann. Did she have the right to destroy her father's lineage?  
  
Elizabeth Swann shook her head as she violently brushed her hair, attacking the soft golden strands as if they were the source of all of her problems. The real question is, she thought angrily as she glared at her reflection in the mirror, does Father have the right to basically ignore me because I am in love? Even when he seems not to notice me he is still trying to salvage the engagement plans with Commodore Norrington.  
  
He will never accept, Elizabeth thought to herself as he placed down her brush and slipped the robe from around her shoulders. Her nightdress swayed with the soft morning breeze as she crossed over to the wide window that gave a full view of the harbor. The sunrise painted the horizon with strips of gold and red, with blue reaching upwards to fill the sky with the promised heat of the day. He is a good man who knows that he can never truly have my heart, no matter what lies Father pours into him, Elizabeth reflected as she slipped into her simplest gown and tied her hair back at the nape of her neck. How could the Commodore accept when he knows that I am in love with another? He is a decent man.  
  
It was spring, almost half a year since Elizabeth had been captured that fateful autumn night. Since then many things had changed. Mr. Brown had hired a new apprentice, since Will had abandoned the life of a blacksmith to that of a pirate. Even so, whenever the Black Pearl touched down in Port Royal, Will returned to the smithy's shop after dark and made swords, many swords, finer than any he had made when he was a simple, nameless student of the art. Elizabeth had watched him out of her window, dragging bundles of weapons back to the rowboat for the pirates on board the Pearl. By the number of them, Elizabeth suspected that he was preparing a business in Tortuga. Pirate swords were not known for being well made.  
  
Elizabeth's father had also been numbered as one of the people who had changed since her captivity. The man had grown more gaunt, and his sweet, quiet and gentle countenance drew an edge that it had not possessed before Elizabeth had been taken under the cover of parley. Elizabeth suspected that he thought that she had gone with the pirates on purpose. He knew well the fascination she had with the life of adventure at sea since she was a young child. Since she was nine years old, in fact. Since she had seen the Black Pearl sailing away from the burning wreckage of a ship. Since she had found the medallion on the neck of Will Turner.  
  
Even though Elizabeth had denounced the Commodore and her father by choosing to express her love of Will, Governor Swann still tried to further the engagement plans with Norrington. Her protests did nothing, as her father had barely spoken a word to her after she had been returned safely to Port Royal. Only in the first few weeks had he been gentle and understanding.  
  
Every day since Will had left to live the life of a pirate, soon after he had escaped the threat of the noose because he had dared to rescue a notorious pirate from death, Elizabeth had slipped out of the house at dawn, in her simplest dress which she could put on herself without the help of one of the maids, to run to the quay where all of the boats were stationed. Of course, the Pearl would not be simply tied up at the dock, but as the quay produced a wide view of the harbor, Elizabeth scanned the horizon for signs of the ship, with cannons booming and the sounds of piracy filling her heart with the hope that her love had returned to her.  
  
Will had only returned to Port Royal twice within the six months that he had forsaken his civilized life, and each of those times Elizabeth had only seen glimpses of him, his brown eyes filled with longing. She knew that he came by the house, asking to see her, but the maids shooed him away. The girls knew her father's wishes and dared not to disobey them.  
  
Elizabeth stuck her head out of the door. Only a few maids were up at this hour, preparing breakfast and the house for visitors. She waited until they had finished their errands in the front hall, and then slipped out of the door.  
  
The fresh morning air was tinged with the briny smell of the sea, and Elizabeth threw her head back in pleasure as she smelled the scents of the dawn and of the sea. Then she began to run, as fast as she could in her slippers. She reached the wharf in a matter of minutes and squinted into the bright sunlight, fresh with the promise of the morning.  
  
She placed her right hand over her eyes to shade them as she searched the horizon for any glimpse of white sails, but the first light showed nothing. Then Elizabeth scanned the names on the ships, running down the dock frantically as she did every morning, just in case Jack had, for some reason, tied his treasure, his ship, his freedom, up on the dock.  
  
There were no new ships tied up to the dock, and Elizabeth stood there, staring at the ships, all of the ships that were suddenly promises of death to her eyes as she gazed at them. A sailor approached her, a simple sailor, neither pirate nor soldier.  
  
"Lookin' for summat, miss? I could be s'm 'elp thare." He grinned lewdly at her, and Elizabeth glared at him for a moment before she turned on her heel.  
  
For Elizabeth Swann, the glorious dawn was false as she trudged back to the house in low spirits. Each morning the sky was blackened by its unfulfilled promise of Will's return. She would just have to wait another day.  
  
But as Elizabeth redressed in her nightgown and rang for a maid to dress her properly, she found that she did not have another day. Anna the maid entered, followed by two others, and took the most elaborate gown from the closet.  
  
Elizabeth wrinkled her eyebrows, confused. "Why such a dress today, Anna?"  
  
The twinkle in the girl's eyes did not raise Elizabeth's spirits. "Why, the Commodore is coming today, milady. Your father has accepted the proposal!"  
  
Elizabeth held her breath, and then exhaled. "But what about my decision on whether or not I will marry the Commodore?"  
  
"Your father says that you have already accepted." And in a flash, Elizabeth heard her own words repeated back to her.  
  
As a wedding gift.  
  
Elizabeth had no choice. She was trapped on all fronts.  
  
She somehow stopped the tears from coursing down her cheeks as Anna and the two other maids laced her into her bone-crushing corset.  
  
I'm sorry, Will. I have no choice.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The green cliffs of the island greeted Will's tired eyes. The Pearl was anchored some distance offshore, and Will considered himself lucky to have such a friend as Jack, who let him return home whenever he could.  
  
Jack himself helped Will row towards the dock. He, too, missed Elizabeth, but not in the restless way that Will did.  
  
They paid a shilling at the dock for their boat and Will gave their names as Smith and Jones. Smiling under the rim of his hat, Will followed Jack as they entered the busy seaside town.  
  
The streets were busy, even at this early hour, as the laypeople went out to perform their daily business. Fisherman were selling bait, seamstresses selling bolts of cloth, and animals were scurrying about, picking up whatever scraps they could.  
  
He was home, and Will was going to see Elizabeth. It had been too long since he had seen her sweet face. Will knew that her father would not let him into the house under any circumstances, so Will had to devise a way to get in himself. Hopefully her father's apparent wheedling had not turned Elizabeth's heart and she would sneak him in, somehow.  
  
Just a few words, Will thought as he approached the blacksmith's shop and peeked in the grimy window. Just a word.  
  
"'Ere we go, mate," Jack said as they reached the cast iron gates opening up to the driveway of Elizabeth's estate. "I don't know, but this'll be somewhat harder than breaking prison gates, aye?"  
  
"Aye," Will replied. His tone was melancholy but his eyes were actively searching the gates and the hedge for an apparent entrance.  
  
"Will!" Jack's voice was suddenly sharp as he grabbed his friend by the sleeve and pulled him behind a bush. The two watched as an ornate carriage pulled into the driveway as someone on the inside of the hedge opened the gates.  
  
Will caught a glance of Commodore Norrington's wig as the window flashed by. There was a pleased expression on the man's face.  
  
Jack had also seen the Commodore and turned towards Will, an anxious expression on his face. "Will. that be you're bonnie lass's fiancé, ain't it?"  
  
Will's mouth was set in a grim line. "Yes. That's him."  
  
The two went back into town, the silence stretching solemnly and respectively between them. Will's hands repeatedly curled and uncurled into fists. Jack watched his friend from the corner of his eyes concernedly.  
  
They went into a pub. Jack drank, consuming massive amounts of rum. Will sat before a glass of water, which remained untouched for the two hours that the two sat at the bar.  
  
Then came the moment Will had been needing. A man in a crisp suit walked into the tavern, and Will approached him.  
  
"You're the butler up at the Swann place, aren't you?" Will asked, his desperation seeping into his tone. He needed the truth.  
  
The butler gave him a strange look. "Yes," he said, and then turned away.  
  
"Wait," Will said, and touched the man on the shoulder. The butler turned around again, but this time with an annoyed expression on his face. "What do you want?"  
  
"Is Elizabeth Swann engaged to the Commodore?" Will asked breathlessly.  
  
The butler eyed him, head to toe. "Yes. The plans were finalized this morning, in fact. Wait. aren't you Will Turner? The pirate?"  
  
But Will had frozen. Jack approached the pair and spoke for him.  
  
"That he be. Hurry along now, this ain't no place for the likes of you. No tea n' scones here."  
  
Jack laid a hand on Will's shoulder and gently guided him through the door and back to the boat. The early morning crowd had dissipated, and now people stared at Jack's unusual garb and the sword slung around Will's waist. Whispers of the word "pirate" followed the two all the way back down to the wharf. The adventures of the previous fall had not been forgotten.  
  
Will sat still and did not speak even when they reached the Pearl.  
  
Jack gave orders to set sail for Tortuga. 


	2. Silence After the Shot

* * * When Tears Are Not Enough * * *  
* * * By Nestrik * * *  
  
Chapter Two  
Silence After The Shot  
  
The large room was dark, and Marybeth Wilkins could barely see five feet in front of her through the thick haze of smoke and fighting men. Women were goading on their husbands as blood poured from knuckles and noses. Marybeth grinned. It was just past twelve, the witching hour of Tortuga when all the naughty little children went to sleep and the adults began their nightly ritual of drinking, smoking, and punching the daylights out of their neighbors.  
  
"Git it on, Herbie!" Marybeth heard an overweight woman wearing a tight dress and holding a mug of beer yell. "Punch 'im! That's it!" She took a deep drink and ignored the streams of rum running down her chin.  
  
Marybeth grinned as she cleaned out five shot glasses in quick succession and stacked them next to each other. With a single horizontal motion, she filled all five glasses with clear whiskey out of a jar and watched as the five glasses disappeared as fast as she had poured them.  
  
After wiping her hands on her apron, Marybeth approached Greg, an elderly regular who frequently took catnaps and demanded that Marybeth have ready a glass of whisky whenever he awoke. She peered at him through slit lids and reached down for the bottle of whiskey as she watched his old chest rise and fall beneath a curtain of long, gray, grizzled hair.  
  
Her tanned, calloused fingers grasped nothing but air. Frowning, she ducked beneath the bar and balanced herself on her hands and knees. Seeing no innocent glint in the dim light, Marybeth sighed, checked that her pistol was secure between her hip and her apron strap, and unlocked the door to the supply room.  
  
"Walker!"  
  
Walker Hawley, a rival Tortugan bartender with whom Marybeth had been engaged to for two years- ever since she had turned sixteen- was in the supply room. His hair was mussed, and he was standing with his back to a bunch of crates.  
  
"Marybeth!"  
  
"What the hell're you doin' in here?" Marybeth said, eyes narrowing dangerously. Her hand reached towards her pistol. Sure, she was engaged to him, but that didn't mean that she had to trust him.  
  
"I. erm."  
  
"Were you tryin' to steal me beer again?" Marybeth said in a dangerous whisper. Two times previously Marybeth had found Walker skulking around her supply room, taking it all in by the bottle or stealing it for his own bar.  
  
It was then that Marybeth saw the tiniest flash of movement behind Walker, in a crate opened on Walker's left. It was a tiny, blonde flash of movement.  
  
She plastered a small, feral grin on her face. "Step away from the crate, Walker."  
  
"Marybeth, I-!" Walker's hazel eyes filled with fear as his mussed black hair flopped back into his eyes. He looked from side to side, looking for an exit or an escape route. He had seen Marybeth in a temper before, and he had no wish to repeat the experience. But seeing no possible door, he slowly turned his head towards Marybeth and stepped three paces away from the crate like a rabbit given a choice of mercy by a particularly nasty fox.  
  
"Thank you, Walker. You can have this back, then." The silver engagement band made a soft tinkling noise on the concrete as Marybeth walked towards the crate and stuck her head in front of the open side.  
  
The small girl screamed and covered her face with her hands as she flew out of the empty crate and through the door, into the bar and out. Marybeth looked after the woman in disdain. None of them had ever screamed like that before.  
  
She shoved her disheveled black hair out of her eyes and turned her blue gaze upon Walker. He let out a little squeak before leaping out of the room and out of the door into the smoke filled room beyond.  
  
At that moment Marybeth's carefully restrained temper burst. She pulled out her pistol and chased Walker through the door and leaped on top of the bar. Old Greg's glass shattered under her boot as she pulled the trigger and fired a warning shot into the top of the door.  
  
Walker paused and glanced back wildly at Marybeth. In the silence after the shot, she kept her pistol steady and yelled, "You lyin,' cheatin' son of a landlubber, Walker! Get out! Out!"  
  
Walker Hawley did not need to be told twice. The door was swinging before Marybeth had even jumped off the bar.  
  
Her shooting arm still rigid, she lowered the gun. One by one her patrons resumed their paused fights.  
  
The overweight woman in the dress took a deep sip and approached Marybeth without the shade of timidity that most of the customers approached the infamous bartender with. "Aye, men be nasty, cheatin' little buggers. That's why I like me Herb. Can't go anywheres without me at 'is side. Keeps me old eye on him day, evenin' and night." The woman closed one eye and smiled in a gruesome imitation of a wink.  
  
Marybeth dug her boot heels into the knotted wood and tried to smile at the woman. "Aye," she said quietly. "But this ain't the first time. I'm just tired o' puttin' up with him. I need me a faithful man."  
  
"Those 'uns be hard to come by, lass," the woman warned. "Even Herbie needs to be whacked into line sometimes."  
  
"Aye." Marybeth stepped off of the bar and, frustrated, pulled her hair behind her neck and tied it there with a leather strip that she kept tied to her belt for such emergencies as hair care.  
  
"Ah, well, 'tis over. I can live without 'im." Marybeth poured herself a tall glass of whiskey and downed it in two long sips.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Will took out his anger with a vengeance.  
  
Jack Sparrow had never before seen a man work with such fervor. He tied ropes, scrubbed the deck, hoisted the sails, took over steering, watched for land in the crow's nest, and still the work was done with a frightening carelessness and speed. Wanting to curb his friend's sudden lust for work, Jack assigned Will to cut meat in the galley for the supper of the week one fateful afternoon. Two hours later, Jack returned downstairs to see chicken skins spread over the cabinet walls with the breast hacked to bite-sized pieces. The pieces themselves rested on a plate, which had been carefully placed on the floor.  
  
The next day Jack caught Will racing up the corridor to the deck. They slammed into each other and were knocked backwards.  
  
"Oi," Jack muttered after a stunned moment. He raised a hand and stopped the trickle of blood that had erupted from his nose and sat up slowly, shaking his head back to his regular senses.  
  
Will lay still on the floor, his eyes open and glassy, not moving. Jack got to his feet with abundant help from the wall and walked over. He stared down at Will, into the unblinking brown eyes.  
  
"Will."  
  
No answer.  
  
"William? Willllliaaam. Boo!"  
  
Not even a blink. Jack rubbed his forehead and then leaned down and slapped the man square across the face.  
  
"Aye!" Will yelped. Jack grinned. "Welcome back. Now if ye don't snap outta this melancholy that you're in, you'll find 'erself impaled to the wall with un o' those nice swords ye make. Deal?"  
  
Will groaned.  
  
"Ye can't live like this, Will. Ye'll kill yerself thinkin' about 'er."  
  
"I'm already dead," Will said without emotion.  
  
In response, Jack delivered a sharp kick to Will's abdomen. Will doubled over, wheezing.  
  
"Don't look dead to me. Now get up, ol' lad. We're goin' to Tortuga! That's reason enough to be alive, aye?"  
  
"Aye," Will answered as Jack helped him up from his prone position on the floor. He winced and rubbed the spot where Jack had kicked him. "That hurt, mate."  
  
"I know." 


End file.
